“No,” Detective Miller said. “He hasn’t.”
The distinction mattered to me.
So did the warrant.
For the next three hours, investigators searched the house. They were methodical. They photographed the dining table before touching the documents. They collected the quitclaim deeds Brandon had brought, the folder containing transfer forms, and a flash drive from his briefcase. They copied data from two devices after confirming the warrant covered them.
Then one of the investigators opened Brandon’s leather portfolio.
Inside were six property summaries.
Mine.
Each one listed estimated equity, potential borrowing capacity, and a handwritten figure in the margin.
The total exceeded nine million dollars.
Chelsea stared at the pages.
“I didn’t know about those.”
I believed she meant it.
Detective Miller looked at me. “Mr. Vance, did you prepare these?”
“No.”
“Authorize anyone to prepare them for financing?”
“No.”
“Did you agree to transfer any of these properties tonight?”
“No.”
The detective nodded and wrote something down.
Brandon closed his eyes.
By midnight he was gone with the officers.
The house felt larger after they left.
Chelsea sat at the dining table among cold plates and untouched wine.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “He told me the marriage was going to complicate the estate.”
I sat across from her.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“That Diane would automatically get half of everything you owned. That she could force us out of the properties. That you were being reckless because you were lonely.”
I felt anger move through me again, but this time it was colder.
“Did you ask anyone whether that was true?”
